


No Crying in Blaseball

by aggravain



Category: Arthurian Literature - Fandom, Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Necromancy, blaseball AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:01:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27335335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aggravain/pseuds/aggravain
Summary: A few of the New New England Nosebleeds play blaseball.
Relationships: Gawain/Lancelot du Lac (Arthurian)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 15





	1. At Bat

**Author's Note:**

> Hiiii this is a super stupidly self indulgent thing but heres my blaseball arthurian au. Sorry to everyone in both tags! 
> 
> Mostly centered on guenevere gawain and lancelot though others are there too. uhmmm thats it thank u to Rey and Evelyn for ideas and support. I just think they should be friends.

Bottom of the 9th, bases loaded. 5-3 Majorca Serpents. The New New England Nosebleeds needed a hero, and mercifully one was up to bat. Their ace, Gawain Orkney, a frightfully confusing young man with an odd sense of fashion, dug into the sand with his cleat as he carefully tightened the string of his mask. He waved nonchalantly at the Serpents pitcher, a shady figure who flipped him back a finger at the gesture, and spun his bat up to his shoulder. 

No holding back for family he shrugged and cracked his bat clean in half with the home run. 

* * *

“Nice slam, Gawain.” Guenevere was the first to find him after the match, sliding into the beanbag nearest to him and slapping him on the back. 

“Oh you can't credit me for that, everyone else got on the bases I just hit the ball hard. Your pitching is what won it for us.” The expression on his mask switched for emphasis as he stared at his reflection in Guenevere. 

She snorted and stretched in her seat, accidentally colliding with Lancelot who failed to notice the impact. 

“Aw Lancelot come join us, Gawain's just about to lecture me on how easy it is to hit a homerun every time he's up to bat.” Guenevere motioned towards the empty bean bag. 

“Lancelot come save me Guenevere is bullying me again.” Gawain pleaded. 

Lancelot stood worriedly in place. The pair on the bags watched as he suddenly shook his head and turned to look at them. 

“Sorry I think- did- have you- have either of you noticed anything weird about the weather lately?” He glanced anxiously between the two. “Feelings I mean. About the air.” 

Gawain shrugged. “Can't say I have many feelings about the air, no.” 

Guenevere swiveled to face him. “Why, are you getting weird vibes from a cloud or something? Calm down it's probably just the Florida air. It’s always ominous and shitty.” 

Lancelot plopped himself on the floor in between their seats. “No, no more like a static? Like uhm,” he reached out and lightly touched Guenevere’s shoulder, pulling back at the slight shock, “static electricity. You two don’t feel it?” 

“Well I felt that, but nothing weird about the air.” She swatted his hand away. “You sure you aren't sick?”

“Who knows what the Serpents put in their refreshments. You're friends with their one player, uh Eye-soul,” “-Isolde-“ “sure, but you know how she puts weird shit on her bat.” Gawain put an arm around Lancelot and shook him lightly. 

“I’m not- you don’t- I wasn't poisoned.” He moped in Gawain’s grip. “Something just feels off, I guess it's nothing, sorry.” 

Gawain stopped shaking him only to drape himself onto the other man’s lap, leaving his legs to lay on the bean bag. 

“Hell, maybe it's a good foreboding feeling, what with this winning streak. As long as it takes us into the postseason who cares what it feels like.” 

“Mmm.” 

* * *

“In a shocking turn of events, ace of the local Rome Divorcees Primaus has quit his previous team that brought him to fame after a disastrous run in with the New New England Nosebleeds. He’s been noted on the record as attempting to start his own one player team, the Priamus Priamuses. 

The Nosebleeds have been consistently putting pressure and heat on the other teams in their league, but to fracture a top tier team so badly they split into two! This is practically unheard of in blaseball history folks, be sure to keep watch on season 3 for the much anticipated battle between the fractured Divorcees and the ruthless Nosebleeds.

Hell, maybe we'll even see Priamus out there on the field again, up against both his old team and his old allies that helped him form this one! The future of blaseball looks bright, fans.” 

Lancelot flicked off the radio.

* * *

Top of the 4th, second game of the postseason. The New New England Nosebleeds were winning 4-1 against the Sad Castle Crowns.

The field is dead silent as ashes powdered up around the umpire. The book was open, the sword was pulled, and a debt was collected. 

Lancelot stood helplessly on second base, staring at where his best friend once stood. He moved to run towards the umpire’s flame but his legs gave out from under him, toppling him to the turf. The feeling came back stronger. The static and wrongness of it all consuming him as he choked back a sob. The second baseman beside him reached out a hand of support but quickly backed away as Lancelot's eyes blurred and he was consumed by feedback. 

Lancelot stood helplessly at second base, staring at where he had once laid before. The feeling is still there, but he is not. 

The arena stood empty before him. No crowd, no Nosebleeds, no Crowns, no umpire, no ash. 

Lancelot stood helplessly at second base, staring at the crowd. Ash floated softly on the wind. He scanned the stadium, full of horrified expressions and the faint smell of melting glass. His team stared at him, and he stared back at Gawain. 

Crying is █████ in blaseball, but tears were streaming from beneath his mask. 

The static flared as he took a step towards the dugout. Gawain dashed out from behind it and sprinted at him, pouncing towards him and coming up empty as his mask was thrown violently off his face during the collision with the ground, his body going limp immediately as he continued to scream. 

Lancelot stood helplessly next to second base, staring down at where his former teammate lay a few feet away. 

* * *

A secret about Gawain’s existence was revealed towards the beginning of season 2. 

A dive towards home had dislodged his mask from his body, and sent him flying towards the Blossoming Valleys Net Thrower’s star pitcher, Daniel, breaking his leg in the collision. 

His host had to be taken away by umpires, he had to be taken away by Lancelot, apologizing profusely for the injury and the mix-up. 

The legality of possessing someone to use their body for blaseball was thrown around for a while, but no one but die hard Net Thrower fans were really upset enough to warrant action. So what the Nosebleeds ace is a mask that uses people as a host, the captain of the Serpents is a literal snake, this is blaseball not jludge jludy. 

And so the theatre mask known as Gawain Orkney was allowed to play ball. 

* * *

“We’re going to get her back.” Gawain announced to no one listening. 

The Nosebleeds lost the postseason resoundingly. 

“How are we supposed to revive the dead. Necromancy? Gawain do you know necromancy now?” Lionel shot from his position at the desk. Yvain elbowed him with a grimace. 

“Yes, actually.” Gawain tapped a stack of papers against the table loudly and dropped them in front of Lionel. “Here.” 

“Making a deal with- using the status b- this is insane- you are fucking insane. This isn't going to bring Guenevere back you saw her ashes. Or are you trying to bring back Lancelot now? Just trade him again with Hector, it can't be that hard. Stop throwing games and wasting all your time with fairy tales.” Lionel flipped through the first few pages, all the same, and handed it back. 

“It’s… certainly creative? I don't know how you expect to finish your plan before the elections end. I’m sorry, Gawain but she might just be gone.” Yvain reached out to place a hand on Gawain’s but hesitated seeing the canvas. 

“She's not gone,” he spat, “and I’ll get it done. The fans _love_ me.” 

* * *

Lancelot claimed a table in the Crown’s main room as his own, the rest of the team content to ignore him curled up in a ball under it. 

Their captain left a glass of water and a note and hoped he’d agree. 

* * *

Posters were hung in every major stadium discussing the plan. 

None of it was coherent, but then again none of blaseball was either.

With 2 hours before elections ended, Gawain set about contacting a god. 

God, he would have argued, is a strong word. It's a simple manipulation of the rules, anyone with a brain and vague understanding of life as a concept could do what he was doing. Never mind he didn’t technically have a brain after the coach made him use the dummy. He was just going to get the fans to bring her back by force. 

He tightened the string of his mask and sat by a radio. 

* * *

Guenevere flipped her own Tlopps card around in her hand, carefully watching the light dance on the front. In an effort to better represent her image, they went so far as to put an actual mirror in place of her face, her veil fluttering above to show the cracked surface underneath. 

Fan forums argued for hours over if the mirror was really her face or if all the Nosebleeds just truly had awful taste in masks, but later interviews would confirm she just had a mirror for a face. Fans moved on quickly after they realized her and the ace of the team weren’t doing some sort of joint fashion show for intimidation. 

She threw the card at Gawain’s head and laughed at the impact. She’d have to get into contact with Tlopps about updating it to include the flames. 

* * *

The first thing Lancelot noticed about being on the Crowns was how much it hurt. He felt like he was tearing at the seams, as if a slight breeze could set him off and he would begin to… flicker again. That's what the fans were calling it at least, flickering, it felt fitting. The team was nice enough, their captain’s peace offering of taking over his room worked to calm his nerves at least, but he still felt off. 

The second thing he noticed was the bat. 

A stark white wood contrasted with the deep reds of its grip. 

He turned it over in his hands a few times, fingering the inscription burned into it in what looked like Latin or some other language Gawain and Guenevere would have been able to read. He tried hard not to cry and threw the bat against the wall. 

* * *

Somewhere in Florida the Serpents shattered the windows of a local Hot Tlopic. They stole the pins, signed autographs for the current employees on shift, and rushed their ace to the hospital after he admitted to not having his tetanus vaccine. 

* * *

The Hall, Guenevere would say in interviews later, was stupidly boring. Just an endless expansive of black void as far as the eye can see. The floor was a solid cold marble, twisting into the distance and the rest was simply empty. 

She only ever told Gawain about the creature she saw there, there was a spark in her eyes when she talked of her time in that void she didn't like showing to anyone else. It didn't seem malicious, she would say, late at night after the last game of the evening, just lonely. 

Gawain would raise a can and say cheers to that. 

* * *

Lancelot was starting to grow fond of the Crowns, as traumatizing as the shift to them was. They treated him as one of their own which was jarring to the man who was thrown across space to be with them. Their captain, a giant of a man with a literal wingspan the size of an average truck seemed to take a liking to him, and Lancelot couldn’t help but admit he was beginning to open up to the team that was previously his enemies. 

Before the first game of the morning, Lancelot woke to him dropping off a cup of water to the side of the bed that was once his own, now taken over by the newest addition to the team. Lancelot feigned sleep as his hair was softly brushed out of his face. 

* * *

The finals ended, 2-3 IHop Short Stacks claiming their second win in a row, crushing the South Tucson Eegees© in the final innings. 

* * *

Guenevere appeared on the mound in a flash of blue flames. Her face cracked and glowing with the fire. She spun the ball in her hand twice before loosing it at the Torino Podcaster’s batter, beaning them in the arm and sending them flying. They were reduced to ash in a matter of seconds. 

Gawain sprinted from the outfield to tackle her in a hug. She laughed and responded with her own as they rolled on the ground. The first game of the season was put on hold.

“It worked. Oh my god it worked and you're here, you're back!” Gawain was near hysterical as he rolled over to lay next to Guenevere.

“What did you even do! Jesus, what's even going on I was incinerated Gawain! Ash!” She laughed out and spread out on the turf. “Who’d you seduce to get this done.” 

“You don't even wanna know.” He joked, acutely aware of the rest of the team nervously shuffling towards them. 

Guenevere propped herself up and scanned the arena. 

“Well fine regale me about your sex life later. Speaking of, where's Lancelot?” 

* * *

Lancelot cried a lot. This was just something his teammates accepted. He cried when sad, he cried when happy, he cried at most things. Usually this wasn't an issue, he was made of water, losing a bit every time he experienced an emotion more than “content” wasn't awful, but it cemented an image. 

The contrast between Lancelot off the field and on was one fans reveled in. The change from the quiet crybaby who preferred to hide in his more popular friend’s shadows to the demon of the inner field was one that enamored all Nosebleeds fans. 

Gawain and Guenevere would joke in interviews that there really wasn't that drastic of a difference on the field compared to off, he still cried all the same. 

* * *

“Everyone misses her, you know.” Lionel stood in the doorway with a cup of coffee. 

Gawain glared at him and turned back towards the radio. There was only 20 minutes until the game started. The votes were being tallied. 

“Mourn in your own way, fine, she meant a lot to all of us, but convincing yourself of some bullshit plan is just going to make you more upset when it fails.” He placed the cup on the edge of the table and slid it towards Gawain. It was practically only milk, just how he liked it. 

“We can at least try and get Lancelot back.” 

Gawain spun around suddenly to face him.

“Lancelot isn’t gone, he just fucking abandoned us.” 

Lionel put his hands up defensively before dropping them and switching to offense, “I can’t fucking argue with you right now. Go convince your cousin of your bullshit theories but don’t say that about mine again. Elaine wanted to talk to you. I’ll tell her you’re busy.” 

He slunk back out the door. The coffee grew cold. 

* * *

Guenevere flopped onto the Nosebleeds couch and snatched the remote out of Gawain’s hand from where he laid on top of Lancelot who was busy absentmindedly stroking his boyfriend’s host’s hair. 

“In honor of Lancelot having never seen almost every good movie in existence, this siesta we are having a marathon.” Guenevere announced, flipping through the list of shows and movies before them. 

Gawain laughed, “Our first break from blaseball and we’re already going insane.” 

“I’ve seen a few movies here and there.” Lancelot interjected.

“You’ve seen the second Matrix Reloaded yet not the Matrix, and no I don't care what you say Videodrome is not a good movie.” Guenevere finally settled on one and laid back, draping an arm around Lancelot and kicking Gawain's legs out of her way. 

“It was interesting at least-”

“So what are we watching.” Gawain interjected before he could get on a rant about the artistic value of gore which, as interesting as it was, was not the energy this siesta needed.

“Bill and Ted. Thought it was fitting.” Guenevere and Gawain shared a laugh, which Lancelot joined in on as not to be excluded.

Other teammates passed by intermittently, staying for the movies that interested them and sharing a meal or snack, but the three remained entangled in each other for the entire weekend. They made it through most of the classics anyone could think of off the top of their head during the breaks in between and ended up letting Lancelot have the remote for a few horrifying hours.

Seven hours were left until the start of the second season of blaseball. Gawain had dozed off half way through the third avant-garde art piece horror Lancelot had convinced Guenevere to find, and the other two weren’t far behind. Guenevere passed Lancelot a soft pretzel someone had dropped off a few movies ago and giggled.

“Maybe blaseball isn't so bad. I didn’t really know what to expect when coach signed us up but… if it's just playing games and hanging out with my friends I think I'll end up liking it.”

Lancelot took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. “Mmm. I thought it would be scarier having people throw balls at me but it’s kinda fun.”

“It's fun on the other end too. Oh damn! You should try pitching sometime you’d be good. I can teach you my signature change up.” Guenevere leaned onto his shoulder.

Lancelot laughed, “Maybe we should switch places one game. I think you’d be a good batter. You’re much better than me at the follow through.” 

Guenevere was already asleep when he said goodnight. 

* * *

The static was back, and Lancelot was gone. His uniform changed from the garish yellow of the Crowns to the deep green of the Serpents. He cried the whole rest of the postseason. 

* * *

Top of the 6th, 1-8 New New England Nosebleeds. 

Gawain stepped up to home and shot a wink at Elaine on third. Flourishing his bat he turned to the audience with a smile, this was the last win they needed to get into the finals and he wasn't going to make it boring. The Nosebleeds cheered him on from the bench as he carefully tightened the string of his mask with deft canvas fingers. 

Feathers fluttered down around him from the weather as he stared down the pitcher of the Eegees©, a fresh addition to their roster by the name of Miraudijs.

Gawain smiled, no hard feelings in blaseball after all, and cracked his bat clean in half with the home run.


	2. Relief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Siesta! Everybody go to sleep!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im back with the self indulgent blaseball au :-) hi. Its just more of the same. I tried to keep this friendly to non blaseball fans and also to non arthuriana fans but uhhh i have a disease for both so sorry ! for a quick ref:  
> A seista in blaseball is a short break from games (since theyre usually 24/7, with each season being a week)  
> Also flickering and stuff is in blaseball i just messed with it cus im mad thats all <3

In an unspecified restaurant, in an unspecified time, in specifically Majorca Florida, a Blaseball team was enjoying the first real siesta of the year. The first break from constant games was here, a whole week without having to step foot in the warzone that was the stadium, and the Serpents were going to make the most of it. One of their star batters, a tall woman with bird-like eyes raised a glass full of a dubious bright green liquid (a sponsorship deal, she would explain later, half drunk and half dressed) in a toast. 

“To not being the worst in the league!” 

The rag-tag bunch cheered. They made it to finals! And lost! Even their newest member, still unsteady in his shoes, couldn't help but join in. An arm was thrown over his shoulders, than another, than another as the group brought in the new peace. 

* * *

1500 miles north of there, Gawain sat alone on the couch of the Nosebleeds common room. He was pretending to nurse a drink, tipping the still closed can in front of his mask while sitting in the dark. He fumbled around next to him for his phone and swiped it open, wishing he were drunk as he opened his texts. 

2 messages from Lionel. He scrolled past.

1 from Guenevere. “Hey I know youre b…” The preview cut off there. 

6 from his brother. He tapped without reading and sent a seel emoji in return. 

2 from Guenevere’s work phone. Why she needed a work phone as a splort player he never could figure out. He ignored those as well. 

17 from the coach. 

8 from his Mom. 

3 from his other brother. 

Finally he opened his message history with Lancelot. The last text he sent was still unread. 

* * *

“OPEN MIC NIGHT:

Ft the Bleeding Queens! $1 drinks!

10 to 3 @ New New York's Finest!”

Priamus snatched the poster from the electrical pole and continued on his walk. 

* * *

Isolde looked up from her desk, littered with vials and tubes Lancelot eyes nervously as he fumbled with his hands to look casual. She gave him a face he was quickly learning meant good things instead of bad, and pushed her chair out, sending it wheeling into a trash can while she stood up. 

“So what's up. You’re jittering too much for this to be a ‘Tristan broke into the rat poison again’ or a ‘Dinadan is throwing a huge party and needs me to open for him’ talk.” She strolled off to the blow up chairs littering the floor and motioned for Lancelot to follow. After a few seconds of processing he did. 

“No uh, sorry, but Tristan was doing something with a mouse trap when I left? That's not important though- I mean it is I hope he's alright- he'll be alright, right- but i'm not here for that I mean.” He dropped himself into the hot pink chair. Isolde made a face he had learned meant “hey that's my chair” a few days ago but she elected to pull up the yellow one with a squeak to sit across from him instead of argue. 

“He's fine he’ll cut his finger and then cry about it to me later and we’ll have sex. What's wrong with you?” 

“I- nothing's wrong- well something is- but I mean can you,” he took a deep breath, “can you fix the flicker?” Isolde bit the inside of her cheek. “I know it's not an illness like normal and I know it's a long shot but you're such a good healer and you’re able to keep Tristan alive and you’re the smartest person I know so I thought if anyone can you can?” 

“I’m not some wizard-“ “I know but-“ “Lancelot this isn’t some disease. I can't just magically fix you that's not how this works. Look at Tristan, I haven’t been able to just cure him of his poison and that's after years of trying and years of knowing what it is. Listen I love you, but this isn't something I can just poof away with a potion.”

Lancelot nodded. Isolde could tell he was holding back tears. He continued to nod. “I get it. I’m sorry.” She sighed and pulled him into a hug, ignoring the screech of the chairs beneath them. 

“Wanna help me sew Tristan's finger back on?” 

He nodded again. 

* * *

**KAY PENDRAGON**

Band sign ups are on our website please stop twleeting your audition tapes to me. Theyre fucking terrible. 

* * *

Hector stretched as they slowly crawled out of the chair they were napping in. Their wristwatch blinked an ominous “5:23” in the blue morning light. 

They yawned and padded to the kitchen. With a practiced ease, they prepared the pot of coffee, the kettle of tea, and carefully readied a few assorted plates of breakfast foods (eggs, three plates with bagels prepared as usual, buttered toast, assorted fruits, and one plate with pork roll and syrup) before retreating back to the chair with a cup of pre-cut cantaloupe. 

Elaine passed them an hour later with a polite wave as she beelined to the coffee. Hector smiled and quietly went outside. Later, over dinner, Lionel would make a comment about the morning ghost continuing to surprise them all and they would stay quiet and nod along.

* * *

Arthur Pendragon, not yet coach of the New New England Nosebleeds, team for the not yet started IBL, stood proudly in front of New New York's Finest. He had been planning this reveal for years, and finally, all his hard work was about to pay off. 

Giddy with excitement he called his brother only to be met with the usual “Don't call back” voicemail. So he called his nephew. Gawain also didn’t pick up, but he wasn’t discouraged just yet. He hit call and proudly looked at the building. 

“Uncle Arthur?” Yvain sounded half asleep. 

“Yvain! You sound half asleep! I gotta tell you the good news! Where's the excitement!”

“It's 4 am here, uh- woo. Is that good? What happened?” Arthur shook his head. Kids these days being in California. 

“The bars finally ready for its grand opening!” He paused for too long before Yvain chipped in an exhausted, but well meaning, yay! “I understand you can’t make it but I’ll be sure to save a drink for your first visit alright?” 

There was a yawn from the other end. “Thank you Uncle. I hope everything works out great.” 

* * *

Beep.

“It’s me again. 

It’s been so long since we talked, is everything alright over there? The Serpents seem to really know how to spend Siesta if the news stories are true. 

I just wanted to say sorry for everything I said in the finals. I realize now what happened I just- was so stupid and worked up I didn’t understand it then. 

Guenevere says you seem well. Uh- that's good! No flickering ever since the games stopped? Maybe that's-

Sorry. 

Uh- anyways- just- calling again to check in. I hope you’re alright in Florida. Y’know it's not too long of a drive? 

I miss you. 

It's Gawain by the way.” 

End of message. 

Lancelot threw his phone once he had finished listening to message seven. 

* * *

**Din-dan**

I menalisten maybe spy kids is such a good movie vecause its more than just a movie huh? Huh? 

**Ee-solt**

@din-dan shut up hey do you wanna record an audition tape for this open mic nite w me and t??? I wanna twleet it at kay pendragon

**Twistwan**

@din-dan pleaseeeee please please please ill let you have the extra can of our sponsored mnt dew flavor 

**Din-dan**

@Ee-solt @Twistwan okay fine but Only if I can add synths 

* * *

Gawain stepped up to bat. It was the first game of the finals, top of the third, 0-1 Nosebleeds thanks to a lucky run from Elaine. 

He felt nauseous behind the ever plastered grin of his mask. 

A young, shifty looking man glared viciously from the pitching mound. His brother, Mordred, flipped him the bird as he spun the ball in his hand, his talons glinting dangerously over a seam. They were never close, hell, Gawain was never close with any of his brothers, but the open hostility still stung. His mask flipped to a frown. 

He readied his bat and took a deep breath matched by the crowd holding their own. 

By the time Gawain was halfway to first, Lancelot had already caught the ball. 

* * *

Guenevere, taking a swig of Whlite Claw, hit rewind once again on the old tape player she dug out of the coaches dusty basement. The LCD screen in front of her flickered with static as it scrolled back. The dust reforming into the shape of a person. 

She watched the moment she died over and over again. For hours on end, the burning hot instant she was no longer the star pitcher of her team. She mostly skipped the part Lancelot began flickering. 

She downed the rest of the drink and crushed the can with one hand, throwing its remains in the loose direction of the trash can. The clatter brought a frown from Bedivere, stuck still manning the bar, but nothing else. She debated texting Gawain again, but his whole sadboy act was starting to get on her nerves, and while the rest of the team was nice, she knew they all didn’t really understand the ramifications of that moment. 

She unlocked her phone and called the only other person she had left. 

It rang twice before a shaky “Hello?” Greated her on the other side. 

“Lancelot! I saw you missed the open mic night. No hard feelings, we weren't all that good.”

“Sorry, I got caught up uh… practicing. Isolde said you guys were great though! You know she never lies.” 

Guenevere laughed. 

“Uh huh, honest Isolde we call her. Anyways are you guys still in town? I’m uh- alone and free.” 

They both went silent. 

“Are you still at the bar?” 

* * *

“Tell me Tristan, what do you think the Serpents' chances in these finals are? The Nosebleeds wont go easy on you!” 

“Oh were absolutely going to crush it. Dinny said, listen to this, Dinny said to me the chances of us winning are 99 to 1. 99 to 1! That's amazing! We win 99 times out of 1!” 

“Uh…”

“And I trust Dinny. Man cant bat to save his life but by God he knows his weird math statistics! Oh sorry hold on look he just texted me. I'm sure to confirm his g-“

“Sir you really shouldn't be checking your phone during an interview but…” 

“We’re gonna lose the finals!” 

* * *

The Nosebleeds were pretty average as Blaseball teams in the series went. A werewolf, some people with weird faces, a lady who had to sew herself together, and a lot of people who mostly appeared normal walk into a bar isn't really the best start to a joke. 

Despite this apparent disadvantage, they had quickly become a fan favorite team to cheer for as the league deepened. Frequently “Make ‘em Bleed!” could be heard from stadiums across the globe as fans of the underdogs flocked in from all over to support them. Whether this was because the team's skill, which even the toughest critics could admit they had in spades, or the almost magical energy of its players, fans would debate, but the important thing was whatever it took, they had. 

Lionel would tell the press later it’s because the air pressure in New New England and the blood loss from the nosebleeds the pressure induced messes with people's heads was making them think they're better than they are. 

* * *

Priamus laid himself on his brand new apartment’s couch and flipped open his phone with a yawn. He ignored the various messages from his former boss and former teammates and also his current boss and instead tapped lazily on his email. Before he could get fake excited over the sale on pillows at Homegoods, he saw he was forwarded an email from the Commissioner themself. 

“RE: Divorcees Divorce of their Daring Dreamer.

Sure.”

Priamus dropped his phone out of excitement. The Priamus Priamuses were officially a Blaseball team. He threw on the only coat he managed to grab before he was thrown out of the Divorcees and ran outside to relish in the victory. 

* * *

“Hey crybaby pack your shit we're heading to New New York.” Mordred stood in the doorway of Lancelot’s recently designated room. He crossed his arms (his feathers ruffled and claws clicked together at the motion, distracting Lancelot for only a moment) and rolled his eyes as the other man didn’t make a move to get started. 

“I’m going out to get lunch but Palamides will be here with the truck by 4 so get going already and stop giving my floors water damage, I already pay enough to live here.” With that he turned and left Lancelot sitting on the floor alone. 

Mordred was the only one on the team with a spare room, and while the pitcher and newby didn’t quite get along  _ persay _ , the two quickly fell into a mutual understanding. Lancelot stayed in his room almost entirely, and Mordred never had to see or think about him. Perfect cohabilition. 

Lancelot sighed and recovered his phone from where it lay, glass shattered, in the corner. Next to it sat the bat with the red grip which he decided to ignore in favor of confirming Mordred wasn't lying about this impromptu vacation. 

A text from Palamides. “Lancelot please answer your phone I can only stand so much of tristan”

Two texts from Dinadan. “Oh my god youre dead arent u.” “Ill be sure to tell Guenevere. Rip in shit”

Some texts from two people he wanted to ignore for the moment. 

And finally 17 missed calls and 36 texts from Tristan. 

He sat down on the floor, hugging his knees, and sent a single “I’ll be ready.” to Tristan. He looked around the small room. Everything was still already packed away, the siesta being too busy for him to have real time to move into Mordred's spare room. His job was complete. 

Feeling accomplished, he reopened his phone. He skimmed over his last conversation with Guenevere (a substanceless talk on the weather in Majorca still being as shitty as ever but one that made him feel more comfortable in its muggy heat nonetheless) before typing out a message. 

“What's up with this ‘Open Mic Night’ thing? Did you set this up?” 

Within an instant Guenevere was already replying. 

“Arthur did. Something something about celebrating the siesta with all the teams, Kays pissed at the extra work, you would love the chaos”

“I doubt that very much lol.”

“Bslwydpw no ones even signed up yet besides Priamus (priamus) and some members of the Podcasters apparently. Italians” 

“I don't even think the podcasters are Italian? Dont they just say they live in Torino cus it sounds cool?”

“Who cares! Theyre all mean anyways. You kill their ace batter in a freak beaning accident once to pay a debt and suddenly youre evil and all the italians hate you. Mama mia cunts! Shoulda dodged the ball if you really wanted to live so bad how is that my fault!!”

“Sorry enough about me and my murder spree. Whyd you ask in the first place? Howd you even hear about that I didnt think you had social media”

“Isolde told me. That and her and Tristan are making us drive all the way there for them to perform.” 

“WTF YOURE COMING UP”

* * *

**Ee-solt**

Id like to thank the academy for this amazing and show stopping loss from the Serpents. 23-4 its like our new record <3 all our fans are welcome to meet us at the Majorca Applebees for a celebratory loss dinner !!!!

**Palamides**

@Ee-solt This is why we were banned from red robin isnt it. 

* * *

Guenevere blinked her eyes in the dark. She was dead, she knew that for certain, could still feel the burn in her veins as her body screamed against the wrongness of this void. The floor was cool. A faint breeze drifted in from a directionless source. She was completely alone. 

For days she sat in the black. The cave, she started calling it, due to the cool marble below her and the echo that reverberated when she had dared to break the silence. And for days that was all. She quickly ran out of memorized songs to rehearse and poems to recite to no one, eventually settling on filling her time by walking.

For hours she would simply adventure into the never ending darkness, the breeze stayed constant behind her no matter which direction she faced. And for hours she encountered nothing. 

After days of this, something shifted. She wasn't completely alone. 

She couldn’t explain why she felt this way, but she knew. Something was out there in the cave with her and she was going to find it. For the first few hours she screamed into the black but gave up when her voice started to go hoarse and her face felt cracked and sharp. So she settled back to walking. Eventually, she would have to run into whatever was out there. And she did.

It took a long time, she didn't bother counting how long, deeming that endeavor useless and just hurtful in the end, but she felt the ache in her bones when she finally ran into it. 

It loomed in the dark, though she couldn’t see it, she felt it. Large cool scales stretched like a wall in front of her. She choked back another scream when a single red eye blinked open. 

* * *

Tristan paced the limited stage of NNY’s Finest, fruity and overly sweet drink in one hand, lute in the other. Isolde and Dinadan were perched on the bar stools overlooking the platform, sipping their own drinks as they watched their teammate/lead singer/string instrument player/boyfriend wander back and forth. 

The bar was mostly empty, owing to it being 11 in the morning on a dreary Wednesday. The only other soul in it was the bartender, a man none of the trio knew very well, but who still stayed clear of them nonetheless (this being partially because of his husbands stories of the band from their harassment of him on twlitter, and partially because it was too early in the day for a headache and they had seemed prone to loud noises if the self supplied instruments were any indication) which they took as a sign to prepare for the upcoming war 3 days from now. 

Tristan stopped pacing for a brief second and turned to his companions as he sipped daintily from the straw, managing to poke himself in the cheek with the little umbrella in the process, though forgoing his usual pity party to focus on the real issue at hand. 

“There's not enough space up here for all of our equipment. How is this fair! The home team gets the advantage or whatever you would say in splorts.” He waved his lute at his feet. 

“I mean, it seems fine. My keyboard will fit perfectly and Isolde only needs two drums for most of our songs.” Dinadan shrugged. 

“You shouldn’t have brought all three of your harps. We're not playing Chevrefoil 2, we don’t need them all! This set is already insane enough.” Isolde adjusted herself on the stool and downed the rest of her beer. 

Tristan moped. He hopped off the stage and pulled a third stool to the hightop the others were sitting at before collapsing on it dramatically. 

Isolde patted him on the back. Dinadan wrapped both his left arms around his shoulders. 

“I know, bud. Let's get another round.” 

* * *

“Let's talk elections, shall we? Last two have been more high stakes than anything in Blaseball history! From the necromancy of last season to the new effects taking place after the siesta, it's like a never ending stream of fan influence huh!

“Before we open the floor to viewer calls, let's start the discussion with an easy question. What's been your favorite to witness? Now I'm sure everyone will throw in a vote for the resurrection of the Nosebleeds star pitcher, but that's old hat now! Guenevere has been back and it seems her whole ‘killing people for some sort of higher being’ thing is here to stay. Whatever!

“Now, i’d have to go with something more impactful to the eb and flow of the game myself, listeners. Just how will the new blessings affect those that have gotten them? I’m looking forward the most to seeing what's up with the bat blessing that the newly made Serpent, Lancelot, got. We haven't seen it on the field yet, but just by the glimpses we've got from insider news, it seems strong. 

“With that well take some calls! Just what is in the future for everyone's favorite splot! You're on the air! Who’s calling?” 

“Yeah hey this is Drian.” 

“Drian- woah you don't mean-“

“Yeah the Crowns. Anyways I was just listening in and I think I may know something about one of the blessings that hasn't taken effect yet.” 

“Oh? You're hearing this here first listeners, an insider scoop into a blaseball blessing?” 

“Uh huh- have- oh this is gonna sound silly i'm sorry- I think one of the blessings may have been a curse.”

Gawain turned up the volume of the radio. 

* * *

The first thing Lancelot noticed about the Serpents was that they were  _ different _ . Not in terms of how they played or how they were as people, but in a very superficial sense.

The most obvious thing to point out was their main pitcher, Mordred, was a harpy. Lancelot had never seen one before, though with how odd the players from the last two teams he had been on were, he didn't stay surprised for long. 

Dinadan, with his three arms and more eyes and a voice able to make even the most stubborn fan swoon. Isolde, though seemingly normal, was sharp in ways he couldn’t describe and had eyes that pierced through anything (hawk-like, her words, apparently from her mom's side). Tristan had a gapping hole in his chest from a wound he got as a stupid kid (he abused this fact for simple party tricks and would only admit to the pain late at night after all the cameras were off and drinks were shared). Palamides, constantly wielding his twin swords, had four eyes that always seemed smiling. 

That and they all had wicked fangs, a gift from Majorca someone had joked once. 

Sometimes when he was alone he poked at his own canines to see if Majorca would leave its mark on him.

* * *

Guenevere stood nervously on the small wooden stage Arthur had set up for the event. She tapped her foot impatiently and scanned the crowd. It was sizable, most teams having made it in some form, but she still was disappointed at the outcome. Elaine nudged her with a plush elbow. 

“You’re gonna do great! Don't worry about the crowd size.” 

Guenevere simply smiled in return, the blue flames pouring from the cracks reflecting sinisterly off her mirrored face. 

Morgan, a friend from college who never really got into splorts, shot her a look but continued to tune her bass. 

Guenevere sighed and tapped the mic, flinching against the feedback.

* * *

Gawain decided to go for a walk. The radio buzzing still crackled in his head as he pushed his way into the New New York winter. The snow had stopped falling ages ago, but the brightness of its reflection blinded him as he stepped out of the common room. 

He put his head down and just set out, absentmindedly wandering the streets. Eventually he came upon a small bridge and hopped over the gate to lay on its walls.

He didn't know how long he had laid there before his thoughts were interrupted. 

“Hey.”

Gawain raised a canvas hand to his face as he looked up. A man in a tattered coat, around his age, decently handsome, stood leaning over him. 

“Gawain.”

He continued to stare blankly as the figure came into focus through the harsh glow of the streetlamp.

“It's me. Y’know, Priamus?” 

* * *

Lancelot pushed open the door with a dull clank of the overhead bell. He stood sheepishly in the dim glow of the almost entirely abandoned bar, waiting for something to key him in that he was in the right place. It didn’t take long for that sign as soon he was tackled to the floor in a tight bear hug by Guenevere. They were both laughing by the time they hit the ground.

“It's been too long! How have you been? Are the Serpents being nice? I'll beat the shit out of them for you. You feel solid! I’m so happy right now-” 

“Guenevere! I’m fine! It’s fine!” Lancelot pushed her off, sending her rolling onto her side next to him as she laughed. “Please don't beat the shit out of anyone for me.” 

She swatted at his face and pushed herself up to sitting on the tiled floor of the bar. 

“It's been almost a full week since we’ve seen each other, I’m allowed to be worried enough to beat someone up.” 

Lancelot stood up, reaching out a hand to Guenevere. She pulled herself up and waved politely to Bedivere as an apology for keeping him from closing up as she pushed Lancelot out the door. 

“Well you can be worried but don't beat someone up about it i think that's like… illegal. At least against regulations.” Lancelot mused thoughtfully as he intertwined his fingers with Gueneveres.

“You really think Blaseball has regulations at this point? I’ve killed at least 6 people and no one said anything.” She swung their arms back and forth as they walked leisurely into the night. “Here I know a place we can talk.”

Lancelot hummed. “That's on the field… it's all different there. I could vaporize someone and the fans would just think it was fun splorts activities.” 

“I’ll drink to that! Oh- ah we should stop at the liquor store actually.” 

* * *

“I mean, this is only a guess, we haven’t seen it in a game yet but I saw that blessed bat. I don’t think that thing can be considered blessed.”

“What could you possibly mean?” 

“I’m saying I think the bat is a curse. Or it is cursed. I’ve had to deal with curses before its... we don't have to get into that but I know one when I see one. That bat has a rancid magic oozing off of it. And i mean, fuck, I saw that dude break it in half and burn it numerous times and yet its still around? I just worry. Like sure i barely know the guy, he was only on our teams for a few days, but i overheard stuff. And this on top of that Nosebleeds girl beaning people to death?”

“You think they’re connected?”   
  


“W-Hey I didn't say that. I’m just scared for what’s gonna happen when those two forces are unleashed on the same field.” 

* * *

Guenevere finished off the travel size vodka bottle and laid back on the concrete wall of the park. Lancelot snorted and held out the bottle of wine which she happily accepted. He laid next to her and looked up towards the sky. A few stars were visible through the light pollution of the huge city, a stark difference to the night sky of Majorca on the rare nights it's visible through the dark clouds that usually hung over the city. Guenevere pointed lazily up. “That's Cassiopeia.” Lancelot strained to follow her finger, giving up realizing he barely even knew what that constellation was. “The queen or whatever, I think I would make a great queen.”

Lancelot looked over to her. “Yeah, I think you're right. What do you think that would make me? I think being a knight always sounded so fun in the stories.”

Guenevere laughed. “Uh huh. Yeah well, you'd be my jester so you could always be with me and we could make fun of everyone in court together.” 

Lancelot pulled his jacket tighter and huffed. “You’re just being mean!” 

“No, no Lancelot you’d be the best jester a queen could have.” She turned her entire body to be facing him. “If you were a knight you’d always be off on quests or saving princesses- princes?- and we wouldn't have any time to hang out! This is my fantasy, I don't want to have to think about you being gone all the time in this too you fuck.” 

“Well, Gawain would make a good knight.”

Guenevere snorted. “I dunno you have him beat in felling dragons.” 

“Wh- I never- hey you  _ are _ just being mean.” 

“I’m kidding.” 

They fell off into silence, passing the wine back and forth for a few still moments before Guenevere spoke up again.

“Hey, if you were my knight. Do you think you could kill a real dragon?”

Lancelot looked back up at the sky. “I guess... if you asked me to I would.” 

Guenevere finished off the bottle and threw it into the street. 

“I met one you know. In the cave.” 

“What? But you said you were-”

“It's easier to just say I was alone. Gawains the only other one who knows. It was huge- like bigger than a stadium huge- but it didn't seem… mean. Just lonely. I talked to it for a long while before Gawain pulled his little stunt. It helped with that too.”

“It… helped?” 

“I made a deal with it. I’d fill the cave in exchange for my own life.” She paused and picked at a nail on her hand. “So I’ve been killing for it. I think it’s trying to escape or something but I don't really care. It’s given the fans something to root against, at least.” 

Lancelot rolled over to pull Guenevere in a tight hug, he was never the best with words. 

* * *

“How's the team going.”

“Just got the email today, Commish okayed it. I’m finally free from those assholes. Thanks for that by the way, you guys kicking our asses gave me that push I needed.” Priamus kicked off his boots and ushered Gawain to his couch. 

“Huh. Congrats.” Gawain sat down, feeling awkward as he turned down the kind offer for warm coffee. 

“You seem fucked up. Not to pry but I've been told I'm a very good listener. And hey, I'm new in town, I don't have a soul to tell your secrets to.” Priamus flopped down next to him, cradling a novelty mug full to the brim with slightly fruity smelling coffee. 

Gawain shot him a look. “I’m fine.” 

Priamus sipped loudly.

“Really!” 

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were implying it by sipping.” 

Priamus took another sip, burning his tongue in the process.    
  


* * *

“Shh, quiet someone's calling- Hello? This is Guenevere speaking.” Guenevere sat up suddenly, throwing Lancelot to the side with a thud and a giggle.

“Oh. Gawain. Hey, what do you need.” She looked over at Lancelot and rolled her eyes with a smirk. He barked out a laugh and quickly covered his mouth to keep quiet. 

“I uh- haven't no. Why are you asking?” Lancelot had shifted so his head was in her lap, she played absentmindedly with his hair as she moved her phone to her shoulder.

“It’s the last night of siesta, I’m sure he’s taking a nap or eating an orange and doesn’t have time to pick up his phone. What's so urgent anyways, I can tell him if I bump into him.” She winked down at Lancelot who yawned in reply. 

“I- yeah. I’ll tell him if I see him... And hey, I'm sorry. You should get some rest.” She hesitated for a moment before hitting end call. 

“What was that all about?” Lancelot stretched his arms out and looked back up at Guenevere.

“What's up with your phone?” She dropped her own to her side and returned to playing with his hair.

“I uhm… The screen broke in the flicker? Palamides took it to a repair shop when we got here.”

Guenevere laughed. “Uh huh. Gawain’s been trying to call you for ages. He just seemed really upset and really insistent on saying sorry to you. Jesus was he really that bad after I died? Elaine told me a bit, but bad enough for him to feel guilt?”

Lancelot rubbed his neck. “I uh… yeah, he was. It’s fine though, I forgive him, I just... need space. From him. You know?” 

She shrugged. “Makes sense. What's up with this “red bat” he mentioned though, he sounded really worried?” 

“Ah.” 

* * *

Top of the eighth, Majorca Serpents leading just slightly, 3-2, against the Blossoming Valleys Net Throwers in the first game of the season, and Lancelot was up to bat. His knuckles stark white against the red of the bindings as he walked up to the plate. 

The pitcher loosed the ball, a grip Lancelot noticed from a mile away, but something was off the moment it left his hand. The air crackled with a sickening sort of ringing, like a repeating hiss of feedback amplified over the entire stadium. It stopped as soon as it started with a loud crack. The ball collided with the bat only to dissolve in a wave of static. 

Daniel opened his mouth to argue but instead crumbled to the ground as all that came out was a torrent of the same static wave the ball dissolved in. Lancelot walked to first in the complete silence of the stadium as the Net Throwers brought in their relief pitcher. 


End file.
